


Sometimes Lost, Never Found

by NoraPenblood



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: And dirk can only try to help, Gen, In which Alpha!Bro has some memories he doesn't understand, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:02:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoraPenblood/pseuds/NoraPenblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he gets lost.<br/>You can tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Lost, Never Found

**Author's Note:**

> I still really like this concept.

Sometimes he gets lost.

He never admits it, he’s too hardheaded to say that he isn’t really alright. You can see it though, in the way his shoulders slump sometimes and the way the randomest things seem to make him lose focus. 

Now he sits on the futon with his legs drawn up under him, watching some god-awful comedy act on the tv. He’s hyperfocused, not even laughing at the shitty jokes he’d usually find hilarious. He just watches, eyes following the way the stand up comedian crosses the stage, the way he moves and the patterns of his speech. It feels painfully personal and you have to leave the room because of the look on his face.

His bedroom has four different colored walls. It’s tacky and strange, especially considering how uptight he is about everything coordinating properly. The one with the window is blue, the other is green, and the one with the door is violet. The only one you really understand is the one with his bed pushed up against it; a dark red, nearly burgundy. That’s his favorite color. 

You remember him staying up for two days, painting the walls and rearranging things like he was on some kind of mission. 

He didn’t speak to you for that entire week. 

You come in one morning to find him sleeping on the futon with a shopping back from a thrift store clutched to his chest and an empty glass on the floor. You carefully peel the bag from his fingers. Inside are three god awful wizard statues. Something Roxy had said about her mother and wizards surfaces in the back of your mind. You put them back.

By noon that day he had barely moved, only getting up long enough to get a new glass of scotch or to find the remote. You come in and sit by his side. The conversation is topical and awkward at best. 

“No school today?”

“It’s the middle of July, Bro.” 

“Right. ‘Course.”

You leave it at that and let him drink in peace while you busy yourself in your room. The whir of the tools and machines let you block out the way he worries you. You build an entire microwave from scratch before tearing it apart to try and build a bigger Sendificator. It’s for Roxy. 

It’s midnight when you’re done and the entire framework of the machine is done. You flashstep silently into the kitchen, hoping to snag a bag of chips and go back to your bedroom. When you look over to him, he’s staring at his phone like he doesn’t recognize the device in his hand. “Forget what an iPhone looks like, Bro?” Your voice is as cool and collected as always. It has to be.

He looks up and shakes his head. He looks awful. He looks like a man who is losing his mind. “No, I, uh.” He frowns and you can see his drunken mind trying to get a grip, trying to send up that usually unbreakable facade. “I don’t have any friends in here.” 

The words take a moment to process and when they do, you can’t find it in yourself to make fun. You cross over to him, chips in hand, and take the phone from him. “Do you remember Roxy?”

He nods. “Your friend from… nearby, right?” You nod in response and put in her number. “I think maybe her… Mom might want to talk to you.” 

He looks perplexed but takes the phone back anyway, looking at the name now in his contact list. “Lalonde.” He whispers it and something in his eyes says it means more than he is even aware of. 

You leave him, hoping perhaps he’ll be a little less lost in the morning but knowing that hope has never gotten you far. “Goodnight, Bro.” 

“Thanks, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you liked this, my blog is striderfvcker.tumblr.com
> 
> My SFW ao3 account is http://archiveofourown.org/users/striderfvcker/pseuds/striderfvcker
> 
> and if you feel like buying me a coffee: [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A850LD4)


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